There's a long moment of silence in the room. This time, Wilhelm Coin does not fall out of his chair laughing. This time, the researchers and undersecretaries seem so uncomfortable in their corner that they want to bolt, their faces down in wide-eyed silence. This time, she sees nods from several constables in the room, including Talyssa Dane and Wilhelm Coin.
Delft's face is locked in a hard stare at her, but for a long moment his face seems conflicted. There's just a moment where he seems to want to say something and opens his mouth to do so. Then he closes it.
"Telbor IS a priority, which is why Dauntless has him on their part of the board. As for the rest...we do what we can, where we can. You have your orders - confer and submit your two for special status to my desk, and then get yourselves equipped down here and rested upstairs...or wherever the Bleak I can find you if I need to." He then turns to the corner of the room. "Researchers, secretaries, that will be all. Remember - this briefing is 'Sealed to the Constabulary' and any lax lips will be dealt with severely."
The researchers and undersecretaries all murmur their immediate compliance and do everything but bolt from the room, with Junior Researcher Trellen wide-eyed as he gathers his notes and heads out. Stover Delft grabs his cane and a handful of notes at the podium and stalks out immediately thereafter, leaving only the constables present in the room.
"You've got a real pair on you, Atherton," says Coin in what almost seems like a rare display of true appreciation by him, "and it's not our chief that's the issue, though you should be smart enough to know that by now." But he doesn't elaborate, and turns to others after straightening his bandolier and three holstered pistols. "C'mon Dane, Utegg. Let's get up to the factory so we can see how the fight went down and nursemaid R&D to hurry up. I want to stop by the district's Hall of Records again to look up something afterwards."
"Yes, let's." Talyssa Dane nods and gives the rest of the constables a nod, with perhaps a slight grin to Emerson before turning to Jesselle. "Anything you can ferret out is better than nothing, but I understand that he won't be a willing participant."
"Yeah," chimes in Coin, "maybe next time Hill you can try better to not brain the key suspects eh?"
With a chuckle by Wilhelm, a tight-lipped smile from Talyssa, a tinny squawk from Skimmer and a tired wave from Tobias, the room empties to just the five remaining, free to do what they feel best aside from leave the compound...
"Valando, I call your spirit forth. There are questions that need answers."
Jesselle’s command echoes in the closed and pristine chamber that is the downstairs morgue of the R.H.C. Headquarters Building, just down the hall from the briefing room. Three bodies are present in the morgue at this time, all as a result of the factory alleyway fight. Two of the bodies are from the hapless arsonist toughs who were cut down by Gemma’s sabre and then frozen to death with one of Anneca’s icy blasts. They lie on respective cold stone slabs, the room being magically chilled to a near-freezing temperature that is certainly not something Flint experiences, even in Winter.
The third body is that of the one called Valando, a red-scaled dragonborn and brother to Eberardo, who is currently being held in the magically-enhanced holding brig down below in the basement. Valando was uttered by his brother Eberardo at several points, though they know nothing other than the names. While Beran dragonborn were once the elite heralds and commanders of the Dragon Tyrants’ slave armies of Ber, most were slain and expunged in the last two-hundred years since the fall of the Dragon Tyrants, and certainly in the last near-half-century since the rise of Le Roye Bruse and the reconstituted Kingdom of Ber. While dragonborn are not unheard of in Risur and other lands north of the Avery Sea, they are extremely rare and have no enclaves or holdings in Risur proper, most being encountered as mercenaries or wanderers.
Jesselle and Gemma wait quietly in the morgue, staring at the body even as Jesselle attempts to bring his spirit back from beyond the Bleak Gate to answer questions, just as she and Gemma did a few days before with Nilasa Hume.
A long time passes. Then Gemma gets an uncomfortable feeling on the back of her neck, along with a chill that feels more like the experience atop Cauldron Hill than the magical cold of the chamber. Something shadowy seems to move or slide just at the corners of her vision, but if she turns her head she sees nothing.
For Jesselle however, the pale visage of the red-scaled male that was necked and bled out from Emerson’s bullet is before them both in the room, ghostly blood still dripping from his neck and staring with rage at his own lifeless body on the slab. Valando turns to regard Jesselle with eyes of sheer hatred mixed with fear, clearly compelled to stand there.
Both Gemma and Jesselle can hear the voice in the morgue, angry but faint, its source indistinct in the chamber. ”You have killed me, ripped me from my beloved brother. I will find a way to exact my revenge upon you, if I can.”
Emerson laughs at Coin's last remark. "I'll do my best." He smiles back at Talyssa as they ready themselves to leave. "You three be careful."
Emerson follows the other three constables out but heads straight for the armory. He drops off his pepperbox with a request to enchant it then requisitions new parts for his pistol. He completely disassembles his pistol and installs the new pieces. Once he's happy with the resulting upgrades, we makes his way to the target range to verify the sights are still true. Afterward, he picks up a sandwich and waits in the armory for the return of his pepperbox. He gets it back and goes back to his office and sleeps until they are called by Delft.
Jesselle while still feeling the affects of the previous days is in her domain now. While the spirit felt some semblance of power it had in life, it was her Gift that now compelled it to be here... Having Gemma along was also a good thing, it made her feel better and that had to be enough.
She looked at the Dragonborn, "Valando, blame who you wish for your fate, but know that you chose to be where you were. You chose to do what you did. And for those actions, you chose, this fate is your own doing, we merely carried out fate's desires that day!"
"Now Valando, answer the question: Tell me who is the hired your group to set fire to that factory?" She compels the creature spirit to answer her query.
The spirit of Valando is unseen to Gemma, but his presence can be felt as the air seems to stir in the morgue of its own accord. Jesselle sees the bloody dragonborn go rigid and start to violently shake, as if compelled by her commands mixed with the awful truth of his fate. Jesselle knows the truth of it - Valando is frightened of his own death, and where he finds himself beyond the Bleak Gate. He flexes a clawed hand as if grasping for something he no longer carries, the trappings of the Waking now stripped from him. His ghostly eyes burn crimson with fire and hatred at Jesselle, but she has seen and felt far worse this past night, coupled with her unpleasant tauntings from Lady Masters over the years. Valando’s will his strong, but at this moment hers is the stronger of the pair.
”I…he…y-you will know too late, little girl, that power and fortune will pierce your heart and b-bring you to me – that badge won’t s-save you!” The spirit of Valando seethes and hisses, and then he says in a manner that Jesselle somehow knows is utterly true from his dejected tone, ”Letters. No names, but letters for the orders, and payment from the same. We know not the employer, for that was part of the contract to be anonymous, and meant more payment for us that we did not know…did not need to know. But we needed a contact that knew where to find us, one that knew the value of secrecy. Always we received the letters from him, and the drop locations for our payments. Eccleston…Albert Eccleston.”
Stars…shadows…birds…crowns…giants…the void…smoke…laughter…gold bars…the moon…the meadow…a brownie’s playful banter…an old man’s kind face…a young man’s loving embrace…
Though the door is closed and Fethryth finds herself alone in the cramped second-floor office that she and Jesselle Wesmere share, anyone who would happen to look upon her dreaming would see Fethryth in a fitful state. Uncomfortable. Disheveled. Sweating as if touched with a fever. For Fethryth Teldanona, the dream-visions of the Skyseers were always far from pleasant. Almost something that had to be expunged, or drawn out of her mind like pus from an abscessed wound. She hated it mostly and fought it constantly, like wrestlers grappling and twisting around each other for an advantage. Then, when she woke she was so exhausted from her ordeal that she could barely remember much of what she dreamed of, much less interpret it. In her few brief conversations with Constable Kaea Than’dil since being transferred to Flint Branch, Fethryth learned to her dismay that Kaea’s visions came to her much more vividly and viscerally in her dreams, frightful as they were to the elven woman. Not so for Fethryth Teldanona.
Until now. Now, with the time that she shared with Nevard, she finally learned a great truth that eluded her before…or that she was not ready to listen to before. That she needed to surrender to the visions. That she needed to nurture the visions, as if growing a delicate orchid flower, and give in to its needs and wants. That while she was a vessel of the Heavens and a rarity amongst the living of the Waking World, she was also insignificant when compared to the Heavens and their celestial motions. Fethryth was not accustomed to surrender or giving in, not by any fair interpretation of her character. Yet somehow, Nevard Sechim showed her a way forward, a path of acceptance that did not violate her sense of will, independence or honor. That the great renowned Skyseer Sechim was so accepting of his impending death and still held himself with grace, humility and warmth was deeply moving to her. Could she do any less to honor him, and help him in his last great “adventure” before he passed beyond the Bleak Gate to memory?
Still, it was not easy for Fethrtyh to surrender to the visions, for they came rushing at her in her fitful sleep, rolling across her memory this time like great crashing waves and not a smooth stream. The power of observing the Heavens atop Cauldron Hill was far greater than she ever thought could be possible. So many symbols and auras and elements moved across her memory, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. There was so much of it. So she sweated and slept fitfully, trying her best in that state to allow the dreams to impress upon her mind and spirit without losing herself completely to some tangent that could turn to fanciful nightmare.
When Fethryth finally awakes in the dark confines of the office, her shirt is soaked to the skin. Yet she feels more rested than she thought she would…and more importantly…she remembers. She has many partial memories of birds, and stars, and shadows and giants and gold and other flashes of memory, and she knows that those snippets might have formed visions for her to interpret, but for whatever reason they just did not coalesce in a way that she could put together. But other aspects of her dreaming did come together in a way she had not fully had happen to her before. And not just one, but two full visions that she can somehow recall with clarity, almost with an uncanny ability to slow down, speed up, or stop and examine each image of the memory in order to better interpret and understand it.
Gemma, now mostly rested, though still needing to attend to certain aspects of her requisitions with the Quartermaster’s Office downstairs, sits comfortably in the quiet of her small second-floor office that is shared with Anneca Summers. She taps thoughtfully on the manuscript of one Lieutenant Cason Dale, Army officer and nightwatch commander of R.H.C. Flint Branch security. The title of the martial manuscript that has been registered in the annals of Battalion Academy is, quite probably, too fanciful and improbable to be taken seriously - ’Meditation, Coffee and Cherry Pie: Unorthodox Salves Against the Supernatural’. No wonder Dale was being circumspect in his announcement of the martial thesis to ranked and esteemed constables. One could only wonder how many war-academy professors and reputed martial science applied experts laughed at the absurdity of such a premise and discarded it like trash.
Gemma found her copy waiting for her when she came upstairs after Valando’s spirit-summons from Jesselle, no doubt the other copy being on the desk of Tobias Utegg who hadn’t returned yet from his outing with Talyssa Dane and Wilhelm Coin. She slept as long as she needed to, intending to tend to sharpening her sabre and polishing her armor when she awoke. But the manuscript kept gnawing at her – perhaps it was the horrors of Cauldron Hill that prompted her to read it, or the notion that the “shadowy man” was still out there trying to kill them.
Whatever the reason, she reads Dale’s thesis. And finds it utterly fascinating and compelling.
Not that Gemma’s any fan of cherry pie of course, but that wasn’t really the point of a poorly worded thesis title. The point was that of comforting food (often from childhood but not always so) or drink (when done in good humor and not to excess) when used in meditative exercise to fortify and bolster the spirit, provided a focus for the disciplined mind to latch onto during an assault from the dark arts or the supernatural. What’s more, the mind is able to slow down an overload of senses that would panic or shake resolve, allowing time perhaps to get clear of a deadly foe or receive something that would keep a warrior in the fight. Gemma cannot help but think about the times in the past night that Tobias used his mental powers to steal away her fear, both atop Cauldron Hill and against the beserker rage of Eberardo in the alleyway. Could she build her own delay to do something herself? The prospects were fascinating, including a final chapter on converting the meditation techniques to the offensive, turning the tables so-to-speak against the unnatural denizens of the Bleaking, Dreaming or Malice Lands when they least expected a mere mortal to do so. Now she just had to find the keys to her own creature-comforts, and practice the meditational exercises that Dale had allegedly proven in a dozen documented cases in various expeditions to Cauldron Hill as a Battalion ranger-cadet.
It is late afternoon at the R.H.C. HQ Building. The five constables, now rested, find themselves passing the last couple of hours of their day’s shift in the relative quiet of the second floor break room, being for the most part left to themselves. The air of the Headquarters building is magically cooled during the summer and warmed during the winter, making for “relaxing” in a break room with no windows relatively pleasant. Around the tables lie the various papers of the scribed dailies that show various stories regarding their dramatic smuggler’s ring thwarting from the previous night, even though they are not referenced by name in any of the published articles.
While resting, equipping and generally going about their respective errands, two letters of some importance came to their attention by way of the front gates of Flint Branch…
Firstly, they each receive a second invitation addressed to each of the constables by name, in a fine hand-written script on fine paper, each written apparently by a ‘Morgan Cippiano’ with a seemingly sincere invitation to meet him for breakfast on either of the next two mornings, whereupon they can discuss matters of business and areas of common interest. The invitation stands to meet him at the establishment named after him in The Stray District – Cippiano’s Coffeehouse.
Secondly, a single letter is addressed to the six constables as a whole, written in a much less stylish or elegant script, though the parchment itself is of good quality. The letter alludes to being written on the dictation of Lorcan Kell himself. In it, he grudgingly acknowledges the constables ‘met their side of the bargain’ in thwarting the smuggler weapons shipment and “embarrassing” the outsiders that come to try and take over “his” city. Due to their deal, they should expect to be ready to accompany a Kell-Guild guide sent in the next day or so, who will take them to ‘see the good doctor’ at an undisclosed location within Flint, whereupon they can do what they want to with the foreign man.
No other letters or correspondence has been received from any other sources this day, and so the five constables can read and confer, deciding on what their next-steps are going to be...
The idea of a break room is alien to Anneca. Relaxation is something to be done in the comfort of one's own home, and then only with the benefit of judicious use of deadly traps. Still, after working to the point of exhaustion through the night, it's good to be able to rest. The compound is almost as safe as her own townhouse, and so she is able to relax ever so slightly - enough to turn her attention back to work, where it should be.
Looking at the notes, she goes back through her memory to find out where she knows the name Cippiano. "When you went to the Thinking Man's Tavern, didn't they say that our complainant had dealings at a shop run by someone named Cippiano?" She looks around, unsure of which of the other constables came up with the information. At the same time, she notices that Emerson is the only male constable left in their group, now that Tobias has been pulled. It isn't the sort of thing she'd comment on, feeling out of place with most women. At least her fellow female constables aren't frivolous ladies-in-waiting, or aristocrats of any sort. It allays the discomfort that she would otherwise feel in a group that is nearly all women.
"I believe so. Something about Nilassa wanting to purchase something illicit to help Gale's cause from the man." Emerson looks over the second invitation by Cippiano before continuing. "Well the man is persistent in wanting to meet with us. Perhaps he has concrete information he's willing to share." He laughs a little bit and adds "Because, you know, everyone we've talked to so far has been so forthcoming with answers."
Even as the constables discuss their matters, the HQ Building daytime janitor, Fin Wraggle, comes into the shared break room. The uniformed big man smiles shyly and stammers a soft-spoken hello, and then goes about collecting some empty cups on a side table used by senior constables earlier in the day. "C-c-can I g-get you something, to drink, f-from the dining hall, c-constables?" says Fin to the five of them in an eager tone.
Gemma looks to Emerson. "I would seriously doubt he has any helpful information to give us. We're the new shiny toy of the day. He's probably just curious. And if he does have information, I'd hate to see what new goose chase we'd be sent on to try and hammer it down."
Despite her rest, Gemma still feels a bit tired. Well, not tired exactly. More restless and unfocused than anything else. She has so much running through her head and not enough time to process it all properly. She likes to try and keep her thoughts sorted and organized and right now they're not, which leaves her unsettled and irritable.
"I'd like to find out about Albert Eccleston. His name came up when Jeselle was speaking with the quite unhappy shade of Valando."
The woman turns to Gemma, "Well, that is something"
She turns back to the spirit. Her eyes close and for a moment she did not want to open them, as tired as she was. A deep breath in and out she openes her eyes to look upon the dragonborn spirit.
"More than most, I know how fleeting this life can be, but should I pass beyond I have no plans in joining you, Valando." Jesselle says with some effort.
"Valando please tell me, where is the location of the letters from your unnamed employer are kept?" she says compelling the spirit to answer her next question.
Once again Jesselle can see that the spirit of Valando seethes and shakes under the compulsion of her words, polite as they may seem in the asking. Valando hisses, but answers the question truthfully.
"I...letters...should have been burned! No traces! No loose ends! Yet I kept them...in our hideout...Onyx Route and Clove...just past the old Leathers Market in Parity!"
Gemma raises an eyebrow at the revelation of the hideout.
Finally, we may actually catch a break
She takes out a small piece of parchment and writes the new-found information down, lest her tired and distracted brain forget it.
"Seems we will have somewhere to be later today."
Gemma is actually excited at the prospect of what the letters contain, wondering where it will send them all next.
Jesselle looks to Gemma with a questioning raise of her brow. Before she replies though she truns her attention back to the spirit.
"Valando, you are released." She says to the dragonborn loosing her will on the spirit. She grasps at the hilt of her blade and empowers it with a bit of her arcane power knowing it should return from whence it was summoned but preparing should it not.
Once Valanado has left the room and she no longer feels his presence she turns to Gemma, "I too would like to follow up on this lead, but it is not ours to follow up on. If you recall I was asked to get information for Dane, Coin, and Utegg. As much as you said aloud what most of us were thinking, knowing when to pick your battles is also part of the job. The joys of the politics of it all."
"Thank you for coming though, I appreciate someone along for these chats with the dead," The woman says sincerely to her colleague. "Let us pass along this information and than get some rest. The past four days are starting to wear."
Gemma stands facing Jesselle with a rather stone face. And one that takes more than a few uncomfortable moments to release. Not because she's put out by her fellow constable but because she's truly working at the right thing to say next.
She opens her mouth to speak but then hesitates. She tries again with the same results. With her third try, she's finally able to get out her thoughts.
"I actually don't mind coming with you, as displeasurable as this sort of thing is. I figured since I was there for Nilassa, I should be there for this one, too. Not sure if you need the protection or not. I actually don't know if I could even do anything for you if you did, but maybe."
She hesitates another long moment. "As for the information...I'm unfortunately very aware that this isn't our lead to chase down and I guess the only comfort I can take is in giving it to Utegg. Our battles are being chosen for us and the one we're tasked to engage in isn't where the fight is. I'm finding it more and more difficult to keep on the given task. And in case you haven't noticed...I abhor politics."
As Gemma listens to her own words, she realizes she's in a bit of a kerfuffle. She never dreamed in a million years that she would be anything but obedient to the crown. And she has always been able to think her way out of almost any conundrum, but not this time. She is becoming truly conflicted between unerring duty and what is actually right and true. The feeling does not sit well in her gut.
Gemma looks to Emerson. "I would seriously doubt he has any helpful information to give us. We're the new shiny toy of the day. He's probably just curious. And if he does have information, I'd hate to see what new goose chase we'd be sent on to try and hammer it down."
Despite her rest, Gemma still feels a bit tired. Well, not tired exactly. More restless and unfocused than anything else. She has so much running through her head and not enough time to process it all properly. She likes to try and keep her thoughts sorted and organized and right now they're not, which leaves her unsettled and irritable.
"I'd like to find out about Albert Eccleston. His name came up when Jeselle was speaking with the quite unhappy shade of Valando."
Emerson puts the letter from Cippiano down and picks up a discarded daily that he ignored earlier in the day. ”This Morgan chap may be a waste of time Gemma, but it is part of our assignment. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the Chief now would we?” He smiles at her and it is obvious he agrees with her statement. Although he tones down the sarcasm just enough to make it hard to detect unless you were speaking to him directly. ”Besides I’m sure Tobias and Talyssa are capable enough of finding anything of note.” He looks back at the rest and asks ”So? Who do we speak to first? Professor Kindleton, Doctor Recklinghausen, or Morgan Cippiano?”
Instead of sitting upwards Fethryth is slumped across the table, her head resting on her arms. She's got on a fresh but rumpled shirt that's been in her shared office for who knows how long, so at least she's got that going for her, but she's still disheveled and exhausted. She lets out a groan when she realizes there's no shot of her going home to sleep yet.
"Ughh. Cippiano wants breakfast so that's for the morning, Kell's going to send somebody whenever he feels like it and not a moment sooner, so I think that leaves the Professor as today's lucky winner. Though I wouldn't mind looking for Eccleston either, bet he's going to go to ground really quickly now."
With the five constables mostly feeling trapped in the arcane-cooled but otherwise still area of the break room, it is hard for them to pass the time until the end-of-day shift. The janitorial staffmember Fin Wraggle finds himself mostly ignored by the constables, but smiles and takes no offense as he heads out to clean up one of the adjacent shared offices of the senior constables.
The room is cooled magically and has no windows. So they shouldn't expect to feel a breeze of any kind. When the breeze starts it is ever so slight, rippling slightly Fethryth's rumpled shirt at the sleeve and fluttering the corner page of Emerson's raised daily.
Soon the breeze becomes more pronounced, now noticeable by everyone in the room. Parts of unused dailies are swept up off the tables and scattered about. It's as if a window was opened to a wind coming off the sea at evening, but there is no window. Suddenly, a bright yellow canary appears in the room amidst the breeze, flying over their heads in a lazy circle. Even as the canary flies near the ceiling of the break room, the breeze seems separate from it and intensifies in the middle of them all at the table...
...and it speaks to them.
"Your character comes recommended by a dear friend of mine. At his suggestion, I would like to arrange a meeting so you and I may discuss a mutual enemy. Speak to the wind a time that is convenient for you, preferably within the next two days, and my canary will guide you when you are ready. The meeting will occur in my territory, because while I trust my dear friend, I confess I find him a poor judge of character. After all, he associates with me."
The breeze speaks with a woman's voice, elegant and tinged with a slight Danoran accent, or perhaps that of certain islands in the Yerasol. It lingers, swirling invisibly between them all at the table, waiting. Overhead, the yellow canary still flies over them in its lazy circle.
Outside the room and down the hall, shouts can be heard, both from staff-members and apparently guards. Though Tobias returned shortly after midday to get some well-deserved shuteye, the other constables are either out on assignment or elsewhere in the compound.
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"What a remarkably subtle display" Fethryth drawls, staring at the bird circling overhead. "Think she can hear us now? Or is this some special 'numbers only' thing? What the hell are we going to do with a canary?"
'Bloody Eladrin.' she snarls in her mind; she's biased against them, for a damn good reason, but she knows that a bias means you don't see things as clearly, and that just makes her even madder. She violently pushes herself back from the table, stands up, and heads for the door, calling over her shoulder as she goes. "Look, all I know is this. First, I want to go see what the shouting's about. Second...I still agree with Gemma. So that's something all of us need to figure out"
In a flash, Anneca's firearm is out and pointing at the canary. "What the hell is this?" The presence of the janitor already put her ill at ease, but the phantom bird is far more off-putting. How did it make it past the base's defenses? If this bird messenger can do so, what's to prevent an assassin? "It's probably a trap, but high noon in two days. Now, we have to go," she says to the wind. Gun and scroll-stuffed bag in hand, she exits to discover the source of the ruckus.
Gemma briefly smiles at Fin as he makes his way out of the room. Unbeknownst to any of the other constables, she and her sister have secretly been helping to provide for him and his family for quite some time now. After noticing that he was such a kind and gentle man, albeit a little addled in the brain, and had access to almost everywhere around the RHC compound, she started talking to him. When she found out that his family was quite poor, she decided to quietly help out. In return, she sometimes gains bits of information from Fin's overheard conversations.
Once the wind starts and the canary comes in, though, there are no more smiles.
Nice messenger. Well thought out. Gets past the guards and probably most of the wards. Simple but effective. Well done, Gale.
Despite disagreeing with the woman's overall crusade, Gemma's coming to at least appreciate her capabilities. She's taken aback, though, when she hears Fethryth speak.
She looks to the woman. "I'd be curious to know, at some point, which of my points you agree with. Although, I think right now we're going to have to follow Constable Summers."
She yells after her fellow constable and office mate. "It probably tripped a ward or something. The guards are just alerted."
Gemma draws her pepperbox just in case and heads out of the room as well.
Emerson remains seated and speaks to the wind. "I guess high noon on the 7th according to my impatient friend."
He stands up, goes to the door and calls out after the three women that just exited the room. "They're probably all running here!" He yells out. Then quietly and mostly to himself. "because, you know? The bird?"
He goes back sits down and picks up another daily.
Sure enough as Emerson surmised, the three constables head out of the small breakroom to see two Risuri Army soldiers to their left headed straight for them in the hallway, seemingly in pursuit of their quarry of breeze, bird, or both. Clearly to Fethryth, Anneca and Gemma, the commotion is that of the guards tearing up the stairs in pursuit of whatever passed them at the guardroom in the downstairs front of HQ Building. Coming around the corner from his office with his cane and his own pistol raised is Inspector Delft, who clearly heard the commotion from his office and reacted swiftly.
As the two soldiers approach with ACI Delft hurrying in behind them from the hallway, he exclaims, "Alright you three - what in the blazes is going on up here to cause all of this...especially with you having weapons drawn!"
Inside the breakroom as Emerson hobbles back to sit down, the breeze almost seems to express a laugh and then dissipates, as if nothing had happened. The yellow canary, though, remains and is strikingly odd, landing now upon the breakroom table and letting out a cheerful chirp.
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Fethryth looks from the coming guards, to the break room door, over to the pistol in Gemma's hand and gives a mental shrug; it seems obvious now that Gale's spell would have triggered something. It makes her feel foolish. She crosses her arms and leans against the wall. "Honestly, I thought the trouble was out here. There's a bird in the break room. I don't think we need armed guards for it, although if it causes us trouble I will have to find an especially tiny set of handcuffs for it."
"A bird?" Stover Delft promptly holsters his pistol and wave his cane at the eager two soldiers in front of him. "You both were carrying on like that for a bird?"
"Honestly sir it streaked by me as soon as Malcolm here came in with some iced coffees from the dining hall...um..." The one soldier holsters his own pistol and starts to look sheepish at what sounds to be utterly absurd.
"It wasn't just a bird, Chief Inspector," says Malcolm in defense of the other man, "...it was a...a really strong wind that blew by both of us...ripped our hats right off of us it did!"
"Yeah...it was...um...forceful...sir."
Chief Inspector Delft clicks his tongue and stares at the two soldiers with that look upon his face, eyebrows raised. "Back to your posts, gentlemen." He leans to look pointedly at Fethryth, Gemma and Anneca beyond the two soldiers. "You'll deal with this then? Get Fin or someone to help you with a broom - the last thing Saxby needs to see is a pigeon flapping around here and soiling the floors and cabinets."
Gemma holsters her pepperbox. "Right on it, sir. We'll get it all taken care of. We just didn't know what the fuss was all about in the hall."
She raises an eyebrow to Feth as she walks by then looks back to Anneca. "You coming? We may need an extra set of hands to get this sorted out."
chirp..
The yellow canary hops on the breakroom table, looking remarkably calm for being a canary trapped inside a building and surrounded by people. It seems to look around and regard each person in the room or as they enter.
chirp...
Gemma looks at the chirping canary, then looks to the other constables, waiting to see if anyone has a recommendation.
"Well...we need to leave and we need to take this bird with us. We can't have it flying through the halls again. Anyone have a handkerchief and an extra deep pocket?"
She remembers how her sister would catch little song birds on the farm when they were growing up. She would spread out some bread crumbs and wait patiently for one to land, then ever so slowly she'd move her hand into position and gently drop a handkerchief or small cloth over it, then quickly snatch it up. She'd let it fly around in her room for a few days, enjoying its song, then let it go and find another one. Gemma was never interested in catching one herself, but the technique seemed sound enough. Hopefully, it would work this time, too.
"If I can manage to catch this thing, someone will need to smuggle it out. After that...any suggestions?"
"I've got plenty of room at my place and I'm sure we can find a nice gilded cage of some sort if it's needed." Emerson looks up from his paper at the others. "Unless anyone has objections?"
"I am not sure that would be the best of ideas... he... she... ahh... could be more than a mere bird," Jesselle says to her fellow constables. "We could merely ask the ... avian."
Jesselle holds up her hand, "Hello there, care to get out of here before someone comes in with a broom or worse"
Despite the commotion that both the magical canary and Gale’s “gust of whispering wind” made in reaching them, for now it seems that Delft and everyone else in the R.H.C. is none the wiser for it. Other than the dismissed concerns of a couple of Risuri honor guards that is. They speak to the canary on their desire to alter the meeting to a sooner time somewhere on the following day of the 6th, to which the bird chirps a couple of times absently and hops around the table. Whether the change of time is heard or not, it is the best that the constables can do under the circumstances.
Collecting their gear and heading off under the bustle of the approaching nightshift watch changes, Emerson and Gemma attend to “smuggling” the yellow canary out of the Flint Branch Compound, made easier by the fact that the canary does relatively nothing to resist or protest their actions. They’re not even sure the bird is, in fact, alive. If not, they have to concede it’s a marvelous piece of magic to sustain such a conjuration – perhaps something to ask Gale on the following day if they actually manage to pull off the long-anticipated meeting and meet her face-to-face.
A fresh-faced and somewhat young but handsome sergeant salutes you perfunctorily at the side gate and lets the five of you out onto Gladson Way, bypassing the longer line of workers and researchers that must be reviewed and noted as they leave by way of the main gate. Outside the walls on the street, a few family-members of the workers wait patiently to greet their loved ones, with a few hawkers standing around selling copies of afternoon “gossip” dailies along with the occasional vendor selling food or offering to shine shoes. A few small private carriages are lined up down the Way for those needing rides in Central that do not wish to walk. It is along Gladson Way that most of you part company, with some making their way to their living quarters in Central, Eastside, Stray River or Bosum Strand. After a grueling set of days and nights disrupting what could be called a “normal” routine from the R.H.C., the constables find their trips home to be something of an oddity.
Emerson finds the prospects of a long walk home across Central and into the Strand fairly unappealing, and therefore spends the better part of a crown to get him to the Musing Way between his flat and the Thinking Man’s Tavern. With a bird literally in his coat pocket and no Tobias Utegg this time who usually shares the journey with him into the Strand, the limping constable makes his way home to his rented abode on Canton. It’s not long after he returns to his flat and starts rummaging around for something that could service as a canary cage that there’s a knock at his door. Answering it, he finds his landlord Ruari Kingston has come to call on him with news of interest.
”Haven’t seen ya in a few days Emerson, so I figured I should come and check on ya. Hey now, did ya hear about that attempted factory fire over in Parity? Vastra came by earlier to tell you about it, and told me about it, and said there was some sort of ruckus and guns and explosions and all of that. Good thing I got my business small and tucked away right here in the Strand eh? Vastra said she’d catch up with you later after some “business” or some nonsense she was attending to. Oh, and here’s a letter that was delivered to you earlier today by some fancy toadie-type that must have come from North Shore by the looks of him.”
Ruari hands him a fine parchment letter with fine script and slightly perfumed, before shrugging and continuing on. ”Anyhow, I wanted to see if you still needed to borrow my short-handled cutting shears for that barrel-work you were…uh…uh Emerson did you know you have a bird rummaging around in there on your dining table?”
Gemma makes her way east towards the Nettles Gate along the old wall that formally separates Central District from both Eastside and The Nettles, walking briefly up Providence Street and then over a less carriage-choked thoroughfare to bring her past Barker’s Way and her favorite Gaslight Eatery, though on this evening she has little appetite to stop by for a spell. Not without her sister at least. As she presses on past the open Nettles Gate and into Eastside proper, a familiar friendly voice calls out to her, though one not heard in some time.
”Gemma! Hey Cadet Atherton! Stand and be counted!” It is none other than her Battalion classmate and friend Jeffrey Wescott, now a properly commissioned lieutenant in the Risuri Army, as she would have been had she not applied immediately upon graduation as a “prospective” to the Constabulary. Jeffrey can be seen coming down from up on the wall and in uniform, eager to greet her.
”Well well! Look at you…ahh I suppose I should say Constable Atherton now, shouldn’t I? And that certainly outranks a junior-grade Leftenant such as myself.” He gives her a jaunty salute with that assured smile she always threatened to slap off him, but in truth never really minded – that smile as opposed to fists seemed to get him out of more trouble when they were cadets at Battalion Academy.
Having just gotten done with his gate duty on a rotation of the city’s watchhouses for the Summer, he asks to walk her home at least part of the way if she’ll let him, as he has no pressing business but a bunk and an early reveille. He asks her why she never comes anymore to any of the pubs or dance halls in West Central that cater to the officers, and says that several of the lads and ladies of their old practice platoon still ask about her and would love to catch up sometime. ”You live around here Gemma?” asks Jeffrey incredulously as they head towards Malmesbury Road. ”I mean it’s fine here in this part of Eastside, don’t take offense now, but it’s mostly craftsman families and trade shops and wagons and…I mean not a lot to do this far out here, is there? If you’re under forty I mean.”
Jesselle takes a private carriage home to her abode on Larimer Lane, absently watching the last day-train rumble on by towards King’s Station from outside the city, probably from Bole. Though this part of Central is not exactly scenic or grand as areas farther north or west, it’s close to the southern wall and within easy distance of Providence Street which can get her quickly to more interesting places should she choose it. Of course on this eve she has little interest than getting home, what with the grueling events of Cauldron Hill, the arson attempt and forcing of Valando’s spirit throwing her a fair bit off. Even without the subterfuge of meeting an eladrin sorceress that has been declared a public fugitive of the Realm.
Unfortunately, upon entering the doors she finds her friend and roommate Jada to be in no relaxing mood. ”There you are! What’s going on at the R.H.C. that you haven’t been home really in…what…two days now? Did you know that your so-called bosses have called off the search for The Ragman and now that filthy Mayor Gohins is following suit? What kind of justice do the poor of Parity deserve, by being locked in nothing less than indentured servitude in the factories…and then butchered by a crazed monster outside on the streets?”
Jada seems to be particularly keyed up tonight, with her early-morning deadline on her latest story of The Ragman murders for the Risur Review taking something of a toll. That Jada criticizes Jesselle for being out at odd hours though is fairly hypocritical, as Jesselle is often the one at home in the evening hours with her friend Jada out-and-about many nights on various leads for her scribing. Some of it where it concerns the finer eateries and taverns aren’t so bad for Jesselle to worry about her, but lately Jada has been out to seemingly less-savory places and coming back later than what is expected even for her, causing Jesselle to worry about her friend putting herself into reckless danger for the sake of the scribes.
Fethryth finally gains the junction of Banks Street and East River Street, finally in sight of the Stray River and the main bridge that separates East Bank from West Bank in the district. Along the way through Central Fethryth continues to ponder the meanings of her visions from the afternoon, as well as wondering what Nevard may be learning in his own visions from their ordeal up on Cauldron Hill. That Heward occasionally drops into her thoughts is something she can’t quite sort out yet, trying then to focus on all that has come from this investigation, and what may come tomorrow.
She is about to turn the corner and make her way up towards her abode, when she notices two things of interest along the well-traveled thoroughfares of families and couples out for an evening stroll. Coming her direction in what seems like relaxed and amiable conversation are Stray Mayor Robinson and now-former Constable Willem Muhnee, with two bored-looking guards trailing on a respectful distance behind them both. It seems that the Mayor has made a decision to make their acquaintance public, which at least bodes well for Willem in his choice and everything that he had lost in his career. Willem hasn’t spotted Fethryth yet, so she still has time to turn the corner and avoid a greeting if she wishes.
The other oddity is up East River Street towards the direction of her home – a man idles lazily by a signpost at the first junction up the way, with a tunic and hood-style hat that looks oddly familiar to the attire the Family toughs wore that she fought up beyond Pine Island at the smuggler’s docks in the bayou. A pair of local laborers who pass by seem to acknowledge him deferentially, who in turn gives them a brief nod but continues to monitor other passersby as if looking for someone in particular.
Anneca makes her way to what is now her home on the cul-de-sac of Amelia Court, though in some ways it still feels as if she’s just house-sitting for Makala Fileccia to return one day. That Anneca doesn’t really care about her upper-class neighbors…or the upper-class, or neighbors of any kind for that matter, doesn’t endear her much to the benefits of Central District living that most in the city would kill for. Even when Serena Taflis and Kaea Than’dil come by every so often to check upon her and try to draw her out for a bit of sociable fun, the townhome of the former R.H.C. spy seems lacking and uninviting. Yet for all of its lack of charm instilled by its current owner, the one thing that is not lackluster are its defensive wardings. Anneca meticulously checks them for any signs of disturbance or tampering before she secures herself within for the night.
Several letters await her at the receiving table in the foyer, which because of the past two days and nights she really didn’t have time to attend to. Most have to do with records of upkeep on the townhouse or goods and services rendered over the past fortnight, though one letter stands out from all the others: a fine hand-written letter from the financier and her onetime employer Logan Milsup, inquiring as to her health and well-being. The letter goes on to state that he always enjoyed her candor and though he knew she had made the esteemed ranks of the Constabulary in the prior year, he had only recently become aware that she resided where she did in Central. Logan raises the prospects of inviting her to tea or even dinner if she would be so inclined, and that a return missive can find him at his longtime home…which he quips is still intact as of the writing of this letter.
”Hi Ruari, come on in.” Emerson walks back to the open area he uses as a kitchen and pours himself and Ruari some tea that he had been brewing. He hands the man the cup and sits down at the table. ”Well I didn’t exactly ‘hear’ about the fire if you get my meaning. But I agree with you. It’s good you have set roots down far from that side of the lake.” He accepts the letter and drops it on the table, then walks over to the counter to get some of his prized Slate honey. ”Vastra’s not getting into any trouble is she?” He puts a teaspoon lump in his cup and slides the jar over to his landlord. ”Honey for your tea?”
Emerson smells the aroma before take a few sips, the hot beverage reviving him somewhat from the ordeal of the last few days. ”If you don’t have any need of them for now, yes I would. I need to chamfer the barrel slightly to improve the draw.”
At the mention of the bird he just smiles a bit. ”You like it?”
Gemma is genuinely happy to see her old friend and her heart and stomach even do an unexpected little quick turn when she sees his face. She shakes her head at the momentary thought that he could ever see her as more than an old Battalion buddy. After greetings and an agreement to walk her home, she addresses some of his more pressing issues with her current state of affairs with a playful shove against his shoulder.
"Hey, Eastside is just fine, thank you very much," she says with a smile. "We found a good deal that I could afford on my stipend at the time and it's worked out very favorably." Gemma can barely recall the time where she used to go out and have fun with others. "It's a little quiet and a bit fuddy duddy, yes, but truth be told, I don't really have much time for going out any more. I've barely had time to even sleep lately. I leave all the fun-having and dinner parties to Bliss. She's far better at it than I am anyways."
She shoves playfully into his shoulder again as they go on their walk. "I'm glad to see you fared well through the spring. Gates all properly guarded and whatnot?" There's a teasing to her nature but also an undertone of her truly being thankful that her friend survived the mayhem.
“Who… whoa… WOAH there girl!” Jesselle says, her eyes wide now into wakefulness . Having sat in the carriage the short ride to her apartment Jesselle's body had stiffened. She did not have the energy or the motivation to deal with her friend this evening but with a sigh she moved into the apartment closing the door.
“Listen… It has been a very long two days.” She looks up at the dwarven woman and considers a moment before she starts with her standard opening, “On the record; I have no comment on your questions or statements nor will I have comment on any other questions you may have.”
“Off the record….” The two had to set down and had a conversation of what they spoke of as friends stayed as friends and was not to be spoken of outside of the bounds of that relationship.
She motioned for the small table and took the small water decanter and flipped over two cups and poured some water for herself and Jada. She quickly used her arcane powers to chill the water within before sitting. She sipped on the cool water and then started, “In the last two days I have been from the Cloudwater, up to the Cauldron for most of the night, before coming back to Flint again. Of course there is not whole bunch in between and there little time to rest. I am beat."
"Hmmm..." grumbles Jada audibly, her face stern and her arms set across her chest in a typical display of Jada-like displeasure. She waggles a finger at her cup and says something that she often says to Jesselle, even though Jada knows the answer already. "Can't you conjure a proper ale or stout sometime, instead of chilling water?" Still, Jada drinks the offered water down well enough - cold water was still something not to be panned in Flint's heat of Summer.
"Wait...what did you say? When you say you were on Cauldron Hill, you mean MacBannin's manor right? I mean, not actually up atop Cauldron Hill?" Jada looks incredulously at her friend for an answer...and when she receives it her eyes widen and she shudders involuntarily. "Bleaking bloody balls Jesselle! What in the Land would the R.H.C. demand of you to go atop...I mean with your sight in that cursed place...you could've been driven mad...or worse up there! I've heard plenty of stories in my time and it's not all fishwives' tales and prattle for the back-pages, not all mindless prattle-gossip! Some of that is real...why I scribed a story once where Battalion Academy had three unannounced fatalities in as many years training up there!"
Jeffrey smiles vaguely and shrugs his shoulders, his boyish smile and ease of response one of the reasons he was able to often get into degrees of mischief and not seriously have to account for them the way other cadets did. Not that he didn't spend time cleaning latrines or peeling potatoes for the kitchens for something particularly stupid or not well-thought out...usually in cases where he didn't rely on Gemma's acumen or reasoning before engaging in some pursuit.
"Oh aye, gates are guarded and no Great Hunt ridin' through the arches against us. Nor Dragons or Titans or Danoran clockworks for that matter." Jeffrey shrugs again and offers an answer she didn't quite expect as they walk. "Actually, there's not much to say about Spring and Ethelyn's Rebellion for me...my transfer request to First Army, Second Corps Rangers was denied right before Shale fell, and since intelligence thought Flint was the likely target for the Rebels after they took the fleet and most of Second Army, well, I ended up standing watch on a lot of Flint walls and digging trenches at likely beach landing points until the surrender was called after Axis."
There's a slight look in her academy friend's eye that suggests that stung a bit, try as he might though to couch it in a degree of nonchalant humor. "Eh well, I didn't decide to muck it with the Marines eh? Could've been worse I suppose to have been in Second Army in Shale when over half the companies mutinied - a few of our old squad that went off to Second Army were gutted in their bunks if they didn't join the rebels, so it always could be worse. At least I got to see Sebs all riled up and chewing iron with me, waitin' for an invasion of Flint that never happened."
Truth be told, Gemma figured her friend would've made first lieutenant by now, and it was a bit surprising that he didn't make the transfer that he put his mind to, and that he had to sit out on the largest action seen since the end of the last Yerasol War. That "Sebs" Sebastian Lockwood also didn't make it out of what was considered second-rate Flint duty also surprised her, though she didn't mind his career ambitions dashed in the slightest.
"Really Rigs, don't get that long face a'goin' for me now, will ya?" He smiles and clasps her on the shoulder as they turn another street corner. "Actually, things may be turning up for me soon enough here in Flint...I've met a few good connections here 'n there in the officer's halls who know a thing or two about getting noticed and proving one's mettle - not quite as good as proving it in the field of battle, but with the King and the Danoran Treaty now, no reason to hang one's hat on a Fifth War anytime soon." Jeffrey winks and adds, "And let's face it, we can't all win commissions in the Constabulary, now can we?"
"So how is Bliss? Dinner parties you say? Hmmm...gotta be honest Rigs that you in a proper dress and playing at dinner parties would scare me more than facing down The Voice of Rot in a bayou swamp during maneuvers in the peak of Summer!"
Ruari muses the question for a moment and quips back, "I guess it's fine if you wanted to know if the air in some of those Parity factories was turning sour. Not much of a pet though...if I get complaints that they're being woken up by bird screeches and all that, I'm gonna have to ask you to move it out. Right? Right. And yes I want some of that honey in the tea, as you make it yours too bitter usually."
Ruari starts sipping his offered tea and thinks back to Emerson's question about Vastra. "Vastra's always into trouble of some sort, though she's usually quick enough to not get caught in a churn. But the Dockers of Gibbs' group are stirring up some sort of rally later on this night over the Parity business. Fires...Ragman killings...tremors...I don't know but it seems the heat and haze of Summer just brings out the worst in folks every year before now...guess this year's no different, even if we're in a new century now."
"So do I have to come outright and ask who'd you get a fancy uppity-type letter from? I thought you're stepping out with Talyssa Dane - you're not dipping into the cauldron with two ladles on some wench in a fancy dress now are ya?"
During the long walk home Fethryth’s been lost in her thoughts; she hasn’t been paying as much attention to her surroundings as she really should be. Seeing Willem snaps her out of her ruminations; she’s happy to see the former constable, and is very interested in seeing how he’s doing. Besides, this gives her a chance to meet the woman he quit the force to be with.
With her brain fully engaged she catches sight of the man up the street and narrows her eyes. Between the Family style grab and the deferential greeting given to him he might as well have a sign on him saying ‘Hey, I’m suspicious!’ She’s pretty sure he’s waiting for her, and she decides to give him an opportunity to catch sight of her without her walking by him.
”OY, MUHNEE!” Fethryth shouts, waving her arms. Why not see her friend, get some guards and info on a suspicious man, all at the same time? Downright economical. ”MUHNEE, COME SAY HELLO!”.
At the same time she’s yelling she’s watching the suspicious man to see what he does.
"Well I'll be poleaxed and flummoxed - HEY FETHRYTH!" Willem Muhnee grins widely and waves his arms eagerly in return, much to the surprise of his "lady" and the guard detail behind her. He looks much more relaxed in his preferred rural trousers and vest with a non-matching kerchief tied around his neck. By contrast, Mayor Chrystine Robinson is much more fashion-forward, though she clearly knows how to dress modestly for her working-class family district and doesn't overdo it like many in Central or North Shore would.
Muhnee steps forward with the usual gait and step of his familiar riding boots and shakes Fethryth's hand firmly, clearly having no ill-feelings towards her after three days of resigning his constabulary commission. "I'll be! Comin' back from Flint Branch are ya? It's good to see ya, truly it is!" Willem turns back and beckons over the Mayor of Stray to join him eagerly. "Chrystine! Come say hello to one of the very best I served with - Fethryth Teldanona - I served with her in the capital and though she wasn't on the Coaltongue she was there on Axis Island when we took down the traitor Duchess. Fethryth, this is Chry...well this is Mayor Robinson of this here district."
Fethryth can see the mayor has a much more calculating and guarded posture, what with citizen passersby watching the entire exchange going on and Willem somewhat botching a proper introduction. At his friendly and honest insistence however, Chrystine Robinson dons a smile and steps forward gracefully after giving a cue to her two bodyguards to stay where they are.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Constable Teldanona." Though she is a petite blond-haired and handsome woman who clearly has no military or martial bearing, when she shakes hands with Fethryth it is noticed her grip is strong and her hands show some evidence of hard work in her youth, perhaps farming or a manual trade. "Willem has many fine stories of those he served with...though recent events on him have been unfortunate, I'm gladdened he still has friends among those he served and fought with."
While the visible and vocal exchange takes place, Fethryth positions herself to see that the suspicious Family bravura up the street takes notice as well. To the best of her observations it doesn't seem to faze him one way or the other, and after a few moments of watching the impromptu meeting at the intersection he casually joins the street traffic going the opposite direction, fading into the normal hustle and bustle.
Gemma listens to her friend talk about his disappointment at not being part of the action and finds she has mixed feelings about the idea. On the one hand, he would be very deserving of the position he requested and would have done an excellent job . On the other hand, having been in the situations she has and taking lives...well...she wouldn't wish that on another. Things that aren't taught in school, right?
"Yeah, they didn't even get me in dress for the Coaltongue, try as they might. And Bliss, well, she tries her best to get me out and have me be social but the last few times have been, let's say,rather less than successful."
Gemma doesn't know really whether to smile or frown at the memories of the last number of times her sister has tried to entertain her.
"I'm sorry to hear that you were manning the beaches with Seb, but not sorry at all to hear that he was. Although, it's a clear waste of talent in both cases.Maybe I can put a word in for you to try and help move things along? We may need the extra man power. Things may not be as quiet as everyone thinks these days."
She slows her walk a little, wanting to talk more and realizing that they may reach their destination all to quickly with their current pace.
"You know, Jeffrey, it's not like the lessons." Her tone is not one of condescension but of truth and quiet caution. "I was on Axis and I was at the Parity fire and even on Cauldron Hill...the top of it to be exact. I wouldn't trade it and I can't imagine doing anything else but Battalion didn't teach us everything. I went into all of this with my own nightmares to deal with. This job just adds to those."
Gemma realizes how dire she probably sounds and tries to turn it around before she loses the conversation entirely.
"But hey, it's not all bad, I suppose. I've gotten to meet some really interesting people, like the Beran ambassador, for instance! That's good, right?"
"Oh yeah? How about that...he's one of those Beran minotaurs right? That is interesting...not something us 'rank-and-file' soldiers are likely to see, unless I transfer to Honor Guard detail for the Constabulary or Torfield Palace."
Jeffrey flashes his friendly and assured smile, though Gemma can sense a bit of melancholy persists about him that cannot be shaken. He makes a good show of it though and chats about current events, such as the recent tremors and the prospects for an upcoming peace treaty with Danor mixed with a very odd royal wedding. Finally, they round the last turn to Malmesbury Road and stop in sight of her flat.
"I'd ask to come in and say hello to Bliss, but as it turns out I need to get on over to the docks and meet up with some fellows coming in from Battalion on short leave - I'm on this dayshift post though for another fortnight so another day then? I'm sure there's a place you'd care to frequent even if it's not a dance hall eh?"
With a last eager grin and a salute to Gemma, Jeffrey Wescott heads back down Malmesbury Road and says behind him, "See ya around Rigs!"
********************
As Gemma heads to the open door to her second-story flat, she marks the two Risuri Army soldiers from Flint Branch that make up her security detail - both in local laborer's garb and in separate locations but within sight of one another and of the residence itself. Other passersby don't seem to pay them any attention, but its clear to Gemma that the standard two-man watch as mandated by ACI Delft is still in effect. They both mark her as she approaches the downstairs entrance to the building, but do not nod or give any signals to her that would suggest an issue.
Seeing the man slip off into the crowd confirms that he was watching for her in Fethryth's mind. She makes a mental note to keep an eye out for more watchers like him in the future.
Now that he's gone she turns her full attention to the pair in front of her. She's only had this brief introduction but so far she approves of a woman with a strong grip, who clearly isn't afraid to be seen in public with Willem. She offers the woman a smile.
"Eh, anybody who'd turn their back on him isn't a real friend. Especially with all he's done for Risur." She grins at Willem. "You one of my neighbors now, eh Muhnee? We oughta grab a drink sometime. Uh, you'd be welcome to come, uh, Ma'am, if that's your sort of thing"
"Yes, right to the top actually, " Jesselle started, "No one made me go up there either. We went to help a... lets say a friend of a friend. There were many reasons to go up there and I think it has been and will be well worth it. Helped avert a catastrophe last night I would like to think."
The woman sipped here water before she continued feel the the strain of the day wear on her ever more now, "I was warned before we went up and given the option to stay behind, but you know me, in for a pence, in for a crown. I took the chance of course. It was not until nightfall that the place truly changed to the horror stories that you hear about to keep children in line. Might even have been worse than that, some of things I saw up there.
"I made it back... so all as well as it could be." She managed a half smile, "Looks like you are well, worked up again about something fierce at that... And remember, I do not make policy at the Constabulary."
”Oh I don’t plan on keeping it long. I’m just holding it for a friend.” He sets aside his tea and picks up the letter, turning it over a few times to see if he can tell who it’s from.
Ruari’s last remark brings his attention back to the man. ”Hmm? What? No of course not! I would no sooner do that than shoot my good leg Ruari. As far as this letter goes, your guess is as good as mine.”
He picks up a small file and neatly slices open the top of the envelope. He unfolds the letter, leans back in his chair and reads the missive.
The letter is sealed in the classic fashion with a seal of wax, bearing an insignia Emerson doesn't really recognize. Once he opens the letter however, he understands both the sender and its significance:
To the Esteemed Master Constable Emerson Hill,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Master Derek James Goodson, eldest son of Industrialist Tycoon Guy Goodson of the Ayres Isles, in his impending marriage to the lovely Lady Faith Unitas, second daughter of the House Unitas of Vendricce.
Hereby to be held on the rise of the Lover's Moon of the 25th Summer, 500 A.O.V., at the island and manorial estate of House Goodson in The Ayres. An evening reception and gala will be held following the wedding - all invitees will have overnight accommodations arranged to their satisfaction.
Please RSVP your response at the earliest opportunity, along with the name of your accompanying guest, as well as any special accommodations to be considered. Derek and Faith wholeheartedly look forward to your attendance on this most hallowed and joyous of occasions.
Your Most Obedient Servant,
Chamberlain Russel Fox of the House of Goodson
"Well now, a wedding is it? And the son of Guy Goodson no less! Look who's noticed by the ranks of high society eh? Well then Master Hill, I'll leave you to it then." Ruari tips his cap and leaves Emerson to his musings, with the bright yellow canary chirping occasionally on his kitchen table in the background.
"Oh I know you don't make policy at the Constabulary," snaps Jada irritably at her, even as she finishes her water and waves a hand for Jesselle to magically provide another round of it. "And I'm truly glad you made it down from Cauldron Hill both alive and with your mind intact. And I know you weren't on the Ragman case...but just so you know that it seemed to me and those of us in the know that any so-called attention by the Constabulary to actually cracking the identity or whereabouts of the Ragman seemed to be just a fancy bit of powder and smoke with no fire - just more doublespeak to prop up Gohins and divert attention from these awful butcherings and the fires and the beatings and all of it in Parity. Disgusting. Someone has to stand up for the oppressed people of Parity Lake...even the Dockers with all their talk and mockery and pretending to rise up, well even they don't seem interested much in the plight of Parity folk as they get gutted and flayed in smog-choked alleys there."
Jesselle refills Jada's water and calmly listens to her tirade, as it's certainly nothing she hasn't heard before from her longtime friend. Also certain is that Jada's passion for the plight of the working family is strong, as is her sense of justice and fairness. After all, it's what makes her good as a scribe of one of the better dailies of the city. Still, it seems to Jesselle that Jada has spent more time out later and later following leads and gathering information, sometimes not coming in until near dawn even as Jesselle is getting ready to leave for Flint Branch. She worries about her impassioned friend, hoping and trusting she will not stray too far into unintended peril and get herself into trouble.
"Ahh...I'll just stop running around the festival pole with my same old ribbons then. I'm glad you're okay Jess, really I am. Maybe just send me a note next time?" Jada finishes her second cup of water and gives a quick yawn and tired stretch. "I'm beat, and have to go check up on something later, before that pompous blowhard "Inspector" Reginald Filby holds yet another morning briefing where he describes no actual progress on the case - just the name "Reginald" sets my teeth on edge - some of the 'boots say he's one of the smartest police detectives in all of Flint, but for all that he's just another bloated gasbag. I'll see you in the morning Jess."